The Letter
by Bratling
Summary: Sully gets a letter from his oldest son.


The Letter

By Bratling

Disclaimer: Not mine. I hugged them, squeezed them, called them George, and then gave them back like a good girl. Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman belongs to Beth Sullivan, CBS, and A&E.

Author's Note: This is related to a yet-to-be-released story I'm working on, called _The Darkest Hour_. I couldn't see how this little bit would ever fit in, so I'm giving it out on its own. It hasn't been beta'd, and I apologize for not naming the twins, but I don't know if they're boys or girls yet, let alone names! So, to bring you up-to-date, Matthew is married to a lovely young woman named Ilse and working in Denver as a lawyer. Brian is a senior at Denver High School. Colleen never married Andrew, and is practicing medicine as Michaela's partner in Colorado Springs. Katie is six and her little sister, Cecily, is two.

* * *

"Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory…Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, and the meekness of true strength. Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, 'I have not lived in vain.'"

-General Douglas MacArthur, _A Prayer For My Son_

* * *

It was late, and Michaela and the children were in bed. Sully had gotten caught up in a project after dinner and hadn't realized the passing of time. He'd been working on paperwork for his job with Weyland Smith for hours. Finally, when he got up to stretch, he remembered it. He added a log to the fire and then crossed the room to pull a letter from his coat pocket. He'd gone to get the mail early the previous morning, but in the activity of the day, he hadn't actually looked at it yet. He walked back across the room and sat down in front of the fire in one of the wing back chairs and opened it.

"October 5, 1877," the letter began.

"Dear Pa,

"'I know I don't call you that... well, ever, but it's the truth. One thing studying and practicing law has taught me-and more importantly you and both my mothers taught me-is that the truth is important. But you're the one who taught me that truth and justice are worth fighting and dying for. I guess you're wondering why I'm writing. After all, I'm only five hours or so away by train, and Ilse and I come to see you and the rest of the family often. But my son was born only hours ago. And I'm terrified. By the time this reaches you, you've probably already met your grandson. As I held him in my arms the first time, I knew I had to say thank you-you were my father when you didn't have to be; when you had no reason to be for myself, Colleen, and Brian at all.'

"'Since 1859, when you came to the area, you stepped in for Ethan when my mother needed help with us. I remember you and Miss Abigail watching us at times, and even when you were still a miner, I can remember you bringing in meat and such to feed us, and I overheard my mother arguing with you when you gave her money to help out when Ethan had gambled all of ours away. When you left for the Army after Miss Abigail's death, I saw the letter you sent my mother, with all of your pay in it. And you kept sending money until you dropped out of touch. That must have been after you deserted, and we didn't hear from you for a while. If it weren't for that and the homestead, Ma never would have managed to secure a loan for the boarding house and we would've starved after Ethan abandoned us. She'd kept the money you sent separately from her money sock, intending to return it if you came home. It was that money that saw us through and helped in the down payment.'

"'After you came back, it was almost like you'd never left. You brought in meat, and took me and later on, Brian, fishing. You told us stories, and it was you who were there for my first crush and my first broken heart. There are men out there who would have taken advantage of my mother, but you didn't. She told me once that you were the brother she never had. And after she died, you started helping Dr. Mike out and were there for the angry young man I was. I didn't want a new mother and I didn't think we needed anyone to take care of us. But you even came through a blizzard to make sure we had presents for Christmas, and you taught me how to whittle.'

"'You didn't run away when Brian asked you to marry our new mother. Instead, you stuck around and became her best friend and later on, courted her properly. Ethan was a lousy example to follow-you were the one who taught me how to treat women; you taught me how to be a man. Did I ever say how much it meant to me when you comforted me when Ethan wanted to take Brian and Colleen to San Francisco? Ethan had always told me that only sissy-boys cried, but you taught me that it was all right-that sometimes, tears are necessary. You were there when Ingrid died, and you knew what I needed, even when I didn't.'

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be a lawyer, and I never would have met Ilse. Even though Brian and I aren't home often anymore, we know that we'll always be welcome there. Even after Brian graduates from Denver High School next summer and goes off to university. During the last nine months, I've often thought about what kind of father I'll be. And as I held my son, Joseph Byron Quinn-Sully, for the first time, it occurred to me that if I'm half the father you are-the father you didn't have to be-that he's going to be all right. And yes, that's what we're naming him. Ilse and I couldn't resist when we found out that the only difference between Ma's father's name and yours was the spelling. I know you hate your first name, but I wanted to name him after the best man I know; my father, Byron Sully. I love you, Pa.'

"Your son,'

"Matthew Quinn-Sully'

A lone tear made it's way down Sully's face as he finished reading the letter. He folded it carefully. It was something for Michaela's box. She'd started keeping it after Katie's birth. Inside were mementos of their courtship and life together and the children's lives. The last baby tooth Brian lost. Locks of hair from all of them-all carefully labeled. Ticket stubs from the Boston Opera House, and much, much more. The letter belonged there. Quietly, he got up, banked the fire, and bedded the house down for the night before going upstairs. Michaela had left a lamp burning for him, and for the fact tht it wouldn't be long before the twins woke and demanded to be fed.

He laid the letter on her dressing table, pulled off his clothes and slipped into bed next to her. Careful not to wake her, he pulled her into his arms, kissed her temple, and settled the blankets more firmly around them. As drowsiness settled over him, he wondered if there were other men out there as lucky and as blessed as he was. After all, he had managed to get a second chance at love and marry his soul mate. And in marrying Michaela, he'd not only gotten the better end of the deal, but he'd gotten Matthew, Colleen, Brian, Katie, Cecily, and now the twins. Ten years ago, he never could have imagined what his life was at that moment. Because it was good; real good.

Finis.


End file.
